Did you know the wise men who came to welcome baby Jesus to the world were possibly firemen?
It says right there, ‘They came from afar.’â€
Or maybe they wore Mink. They did travel a fur piece.
Lately, I was on the road. Well, I was in the air and then on the road. First stop was Minneapolis/St. Paul. Then, my travel partner and I took our roadshow to Madison, Wisconsin. We wrapped up the trip in Chicago.
Prior to the journey, I could count just five of the 48 contiguous states I had never visited. Now, I am down to three, having marked off Minnesota and Wisconsin. All that remains are Idaho, North Dakota, and Montana.
We were doing meet-and-greets with prospective adjusters in three states on three consecutive nights. There was not much time for exploration, but there was time for observation and I took it.
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Everyone in the Midwest sounds like the cast of Fargo, dontcha know. You betcha.
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Even in deep-blue states (all three of our stops were as deep as blue states get), people have had enough of “masking up.†I only wore mine in the airport and on the plane. That’s it. Only in the Biden regions. And I was not alone. Nor was I molested or chastised over letting my face hang out. Moreover, I saw more Trump t-shirts and signage on this trip than I typically see on any given three-day period in the heart of Texas. Color me surprised.
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The Mall of the Americas is as massive as advertised. I mean, huge. But, it is still…a mall and it has tons of mall shit in it. Plus a rollercoaster.
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Wisconsin has cheese. Every other billboard along the highway is there to remind you of this essential fact. The cows chew their cud with complete disinterest and the farmhouses humbly pose in postcard perfection.
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The Wisconsin Dells are lovely, lush, and green hills and valleys and acres of corn plus dairy farms. I found myself singing, quite loudly, repeatedly, and to the annoyance of my travel partner, “Hi-ho the derry-o, the farmer in the dell.â€
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Madison in June is as beautiful a place as I would hope to be. If there were a more perfect night for weather anywhere in the world than the one I spent there, I should like to know where it would have been and why. The temperature was a perfect 70. The breeze was light and caressed the soul with the skilled fingers of an ethereal masseuse. University kids played volleyball on sand courts while dogs chased frisbees across the grassy fields of a picturesque park adjacent to majestic Lake Mendota. The shell house for the University of Wisconsin row team stood quaint but proud against the backdrop of a sunset even Van Gogh couldn’t capture. (But I got it with my trusty Samsung s21.)
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I was in Chicago a full 24 hours and did not see anyone get shot nor were any potshots taken at me, other than the occasional verbal shot across the bough from my travel partner. I consider this a win. I did learn afterward, sadly, that eight people were shot in a home in Englewood and four had died. Thank goodness they have such strict gun laws there. Who knows how bad things might get otherwise.
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Deep dish pizza! Count me in.
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The closest I got to Wrigley Field on this trip was a cool pic of it in O’Hair and the Cubs bar located there. They love their Cubbies, though I guess some of the sweet sorrow of a hundred-year championship drought has taken the starch out of their angst. They won it all in 2016 and despite that being five years ago already, cannot stop reminding each other.
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I flew home. I thought American Airlines had dropped me off in Purgatory and wondered how they knew my sins like that. Turns out, it was just a layover in Oklahoma. I was only there a minute before I was bound to “Hook ‘em†home. Sooner the better.
I want to be like a Wisconsin farmer: outstanding in my field.